CHAPTER FOURTEEN
They were quiet as they drove west on 86, toward Bozeman. Michael stared out at the star-heavy sky as he drove, trying to concentrate on the case before them.
His mind kept going to other things, though.
Rylie, however, was laser-focused on the murders. She usually was. It was impressive, considering her background. He wished he could be the same.
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and grabbed her phone. “I’ll call the Montana Pines and reserve our rooms. Just in case.”
“Good idea,” he said. His stomach had been aching ever since he swallowed that last bite of chipped beef. It’d only gotten worse when they’d gone into the back and he’d seen the condition of the kitchen. He was pretty sure he spotted a dead cockroach, there. Now, his stomach was rumbling non-stop.
